


it's the wrong brother

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Modern AU, everyone else is not, forgive me this is horrible, i don't know where it goes from there, jonrya, ned is dead, robb and arya bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:29:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3374720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ned has just died and the Starks have to stitch and mend the hole he left in his stead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. why?

She's in her room, punching the carpet until her knuckles feel sore and the skin drawn tight over them seems ready to bleed. The first to come to her, to stop her, isn't Jon. The first to come is Robb, throwing the door open, his wild curls framing a face of worry. He takes her into his warmth; his arms protective around her, ripping her away from the floor she had so ruthlessly been attacking. And he doesn't speak - he knows there's nothing to be said, not to her at least, nothing that will help. She needs this wordless space.

Her sobbing isn't a sign of acceptance, like Sansa's. She doesn't want to accept, to believe - there's relief in accepting, Arya doesn't want to accept, to be _relieved_ , she wants to fight the truth, like her father should have fought for his life on that hospital bed. She wants to wipe away this memory. She wants her father back.

Robb cradles her head on his chest with a hand (his fingers tangle and clutch her hair and he holds as hard as he can without hurting her), his other one holding her arm back ("it's okay"). He settles his lips onto where her forehead stops and her hair begins and he whispers onto her hot skin, biting back the crack in his voice.

"Arya..." he hasn't yet cried. (Jon has.)

The young girl in his arms untenses, laying limp on him. She doesn't stop crying, her expression a saddening, horrifying sight. She grabs onto his shirt and twists her body to hug him (she doesn't move her head, Robb's lips are still there and his muttering on her skin is soothing), trying to swallow the next wave of wailing and tears. To say something. _'Robb', 'Thank you', 'I love you', 'It's not fair_ ', all of the things swarming in her head, hurting her ( _'what of Jon now that the only parent who loved him is dead?'_ \- this hurt the most and she would never speak it aloud).

She is very aware that the door is open, that these are _Robb's_ arms she is buried in, that her father is dead, that she is suddenly vulnerable in every way and exposed to a brother she was never too close with. She wants to slam that door shut, she wants no one to see her, no one else. She wants her father back.

She won't be the first to move, to break Robb's hold on her, and Robb gives no sign that he's leaving her side.

"I'm sorry," Arya speaks finally, her voice weak but her breathing steadied at last. Robb studies her, wipes the hair out of her face and  _stares_.

"You have nothing to apologize for,"

"No." she stops him. " _I'm_ _not weak_. Father is dead, and I'm acting like... like-" she nearly chokes on her words, "I'm being weak, I shouldn't. I shouldn't - dad- father - was never weak. He would not want this, he would-" she swallows the bitterness in her throat. "He would want me strong." Robb wants to melt onto her, like a warm coat of...something (of him?) to keep her close, _God_ she was so strong, so brave.

"You are nothing if not strong, Arya," he leans in and their foreheads touch. She is his sister, they've never been the closest, but he _loves_ her, loves her so much, and he wants this disaster that happened to their family to go away, in this moment, he wants it away just for Arya's tears to disappear too. She shakes her head just the slightest, insisting to herself that she is weak.

Robb holds her face, his thumbs on her cheeks, and he itches to wipe away her tears - but he won't. (He knows the symbolism). He knows he is soothing her, helping, but he is not what she needs (the wrong brother); he cannot really make her tears stop from flowing.

Still, he holds her. (where is Jon now?) He has never known Arya; not deeply. He's surprised she even let him touch her, see her like this, to see her frail and emotional (he's grateful she did). And Robb holds her just the same.

Arya's breathing is calmest now, and it harmonizes with Robb's - neither knows how long they'e been sitting together for, and there's a small exchange between the two ("Are you tired?" "Yes.") before Robb effortlessly picks his drowsy sister up and lays her on one side of the bed, tucking her under the blankets. He wonders what to say, if he should kiss her forehead, or say goodnight, stay or leave, but then Arya drags her exhausted form to the other end of the mattress and looks at Robb, and he understands.

As he flips off the light switch and slides in next to his little sister in the pale darkness, he keeps fresh in his mind the cloudy grey of Arya's eyes and how they screamed _'don't leave me'_ , and her red cheeks and nose, and the rims of her eyes, and he tugs her to him again. Arya quickly turns on her side to be chest to chest with her brother, leaning her head forward into his neck. They lie there together until well after Arya is asleep, the smell of Robb washing a sense of safety over her.

Robb has been watching her features relax into something sweet and painless all the while, and he removes himself from her bed as carefully as he can. At her door, he turns his head to look at her again, huddled and warm, and thinks of how under different circumstances he would have reminded her not to wear jeans to bed, and to wipe her tears lest they dry and crust on her face. Then he finds himself with a sad smile, because under different circumstances it wouldn't have been him putting her to bed at all.

"Did father have to die for Arya to trust me?" he mutters softly to no one, and leaves.

-

It isn't until almost midnight when everyone is asleep (not Catelyn; she can't even stand being in her - their - bedroom, "everything smells like Ned," and more crying), that Jon makes his way to Arya's room.

He doesn't want to wake her but he knows everything is wrong if they don't talk at all, and he feels wrong enough already for not having been here to see her through the tears and to sleep. So he sits near the bed, rocking himself back and forth, _'She's so young'_ he thinks and he wants to cry again because he loves her and she's not ready for this loss. Then again she was always more ready for hardship than other kids her age, but she shouldn't have had to be.

Maybe his breath is harsher than the previous silence in her room, or maybe it's just the fact that this is Jon and she can sense him even in sleep, but something makes Arya stir awake and her eyes drift open. They're cold eyes, dead eyes.

The first words out of Jon's mouth are 'I'm sorry' and he jumps forward to kneel on the side of the bed and hold her hand. Her eyes warm up a bit. She could repeat Robb's words to Jon. 'You have nothing to apologize for', but she wouldn't mean them, and Jon would be able to tell.

"Where were you," her throat is dry and her voice comes out a low croak, and she didn't even say it like a question. The light from the lampposts outside her window dimly find their way to Jon's face, making it slightly visible in the dark, and Arya sees his puffy eyes and the splash of red all around them and immediately knows he stayed away from her because he didn't want her to see him cry.

"I was outside, I needed to breathe- I needed some fresh air," (I needed to feel the cold of night to let me know that this was real).

"We all cried, Jon. You should've been here, we could've cried together," it was just like Arya to say that, something so seemingly out of context, so wonderful, and Jon understands why. Jon always understood Arya, he understands everything in her face, all the veins and the scars and the tear streaks. He hurts all over because he understands Arya's hurt.

"I'm sorry I left you alone," again he apologizes, and his face is swollen from having cried too much - he's almost an adult now, but he looks so much like a child still in this moment, bloated and broken and guilt-ridden. Arya wants to cry again because he looks so small and he looks so delicate, like everything that kept him strong was stripped from him.  _'No, it wasn't' -_ she thinks -  _'he has me'._

"I wasn't alone, Robb was with me," there's something bittersweet in her tone that makes Jon feel even worse than when he had just thought she had been alone (he knows he should be glad she had Robb, he knows). "He even... he even put me to sleep," she eyes the door. "I guess he left at some point." She almost sounds disappointed and Jon feels a mixture of emotions, like something burning his throat and something clutching his pumping heart with claws. (What a silly boy he was still, getting jealous of his brother for being close with Arya once, and what a time for his jealousy too - Jon knew he was being childish, he wanted to slap himself,  _God,_ he must be the worst man on earth, maybe he should've died instead of father)

_'No, no'_ he shakes the thought away  _'that would have devestated Arya too much'._ Maybe even more than father dying, to be honest.

"Oh," he still can't help the bitterness in his voice. "Did he - sleep here too?" Arya nods (Jon wants to run suddenly and he gulps once, twice, his eyes going wide with confusion: Why? Why?)

"Though I don't think he actually slept, I think he just waited for me to fall asleep. Could you close the door?" she's drained, she needs Jon near her. Thankfully she didn't catch on to Jon's train of thought, or his sudden jolt of possessiveness, or anything really in Jon's face - nothing was translating well. She was tired and oh so sad and all she wanted was Jon in the room. Arya may be tired but she is always clever. If Catelyn heard their voices, she would insist they sleep separately; not even grief could stopper her resentment for Ned's boy.  

Jon knows what Arya means, so he is quiet when he closes the door, and quiet when he lays down next to her, the two doing nothing but breathing side by side. He stays as close to her as possible.

He mutters 'I love you's and apologies and Arya just tells him "I love you too" and to " _can it_ , I forgive you Jon".

Before he really drifts to sleep, he makes sure to tell her:

"I will never leave you again." and he doesn't think she hears.

Arya smiles. (Maybe it will be long before she smiles like that again)


	2. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You should go, Robb. You should move on, get on with your studies - your father would hate to see you abandoning your future all because of his death." Catelyn chokes back on the last word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really short, I am profusely sorry.

It takes Arya months to be able to smile again without feeling guilty that she allowed herself momentary happiness. But at least she doesn’t cry.

And Catelyn doesn’t sleep in her room for the first months after Ned’s decease.

Sansa can’t sleep at all, waking before the sun and pacing in the dark. She can’t remember what her dreams show her, but she knows they’re rotting her from the inside and she always wakes from them drenched in a layer of sickening sweat.

Bran doesn’t cry. Only once – (when they all return home from the hospital - all but one - he shuts himself in his room and screeches into the pillows until he falls asleep). He can’t add to the collective family weeping, he won’t do it. Because sometimes when Sansa thinks no one is around to see she stops what she’s doing and her entire body shakes with tears, and Bran sees her every time. It upsets him even more than the loss of father – _at least he isn’t hurting_. (Bran is the first to accept his father’s death).

Jon doesn’t dare to look Catelyn in the eye (“Poor woman, widowed and stuck with her husband’s bastard.” “Oh Jon, don’t even say stuff like that!” “You know I’m right, Arya.”)

The summer lasts an eternity for the (remaining) Starks.

-

When September rolls around, the family has nearly recovered (or pretended to).

Rickon doesn’t cry in his sleep anymore, and Sansa can once again fall into slumber undisturbed by the nightmares of her loss.

School begins. Robb is to leave for university (he insists on staying and Catelyn is tempted to throw something at him: “You are _not_ sacrificing more than you have already.” “They would never forgive me for leaving them, mother,”  
“- They won’t forgive you if you stay.”) so goodbyes are exchanged and Sansa cries a bit, Robb hugs all his brothers but holds Jon the longest (“Please Jon, keep her safe” “- I will,” “and keep her happy.” “-I’ll..try.”), and he almost thinks Arya won’t even come out to wave at him – she isn’t waiting in the driveway with the rest of them – until he sees her bounding from the house with a tiny potted plant between her palms.

“Be careful with him!” she stretches out her hands in offering, presenting Robb with his parting gift. He can only offer back a smile but Arya’s face is tight and unyielding, he knew she’d be upset.

“I will,” he takes the small cactus in hand, turns to put it in the cup holder of his car and Catelyn bites her tongue (“Oh Arya what kind of gift is that?” – she knows the answer already: “the most sincere Arya can give.”). Arya’s face is still unforgiving but she stomps towards Robb and wraps her arms around his neck. Her weight pulls him down, and although taken by surprise he quickly grasps this opportunity and holds her just as sweetly, his hands around her like the best kind of safety net. Jon’s expression stiffens, and thank god no one notices while he looks at the grass (he is growing to be a jealous man).

“I’m sorry for leaving,” Robb’s whisper is muffled by Arya’s clothed shoulder, and she’s the only one to hear.

“You have nothing to apologize for.” She whispers back. They let go.

He’s in his car after one more goodbye when he backs out of the driveway and begins to drive off, turning his head around to wave at his family before leaving. They all wave back.

Arya smiles for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is such a late update, I can't even bring myself to apologize properly.


	3. Fondness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ' _Our ___kind of fondness' Arya thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Umm, so, this is hella short - and I'm not that pleased with the outcome. But it's been so many months since I last updated that I had to post something :c No worries though - the next chapter will probably be up this week too! (And guess who's coming to visit from college?? THat's rIGHT).

In Ned's absence there had been a loud kind of despair; In Robb's there is only a quiet longing.

And there's hope - because Christmas break isn't that far from now, and he'll be back. Before they know it, he'll be back. (The same cannot be said for their father)

The most unsettling part of Robb leaving was just how ordinary of an event it was. Everyone’s older brother moves out at some point, it was expected, it was a fact, ever since they were little they knew it would happen. But their father’s death? They weren’t ever prepared for this, so to experience loss they were able to stomach was the worst kind of calmness.

 Of course they missed him terribly; Arya probably missed him the most, but he left and it was so normal. She was angry, angry that the second they drifted closer he had to break apart and _go_. Jon was angry too, for other reasons altogether – he’d rather not think about them, he liked to pretend he was angry with himself instead.

The days passed by in small blurs. Everyone had dealt with grief differently, and so they dealt with routine in the same vein. Sansa’s friends were all so sickeningly supportive, Arya struggled to hide her cringing face whenever they were around, and even though Sansa seemed happy that they cared so much, her vacant eyes screamed out for them to STOP, to give it up – _she wanted to f o r g e t,_ damn it.

But just as she did in grieving, she smiled when they were with her, offering them thanks and ‘I’ll be fine’s, even though she was lying (Arya mentally cursed all of them – sweet, gentle Sansa, with her foolish priorities and her silly friends – doesn’t she deserve some peace at least?) ; and she buried herself deep in schoolwork.  Because _I may have lost my father, but I’m not going to disappoint him anytime soon_ (her grades remained intact).

The first months of school were the hardest for Arya. Just as soon as she got adjusted to the reality that her _father isn’t alive anymore_ , school started and she might as well be reliving the night of his death every new day. Her classmates’ condolences did nothing in the way of comforting her, only serving as reminders of that first night where she had trembled for _god knows_ how long in Robb’s arms ( - consequently, this reminded her that Robb was gone too, even if for just a while, and she wanted to punch everything in sight because these are changes she did not want to have to swallow).

At least she has Jon. Her mother may be rude to him, but she is not cruel – maybe it has more to do with Arya’s happiness than it does with maintaining her humanity, but she hasn’t kicked Jon out of the house yet, and it seems she isn’t planning to. So they sleep in the same room every night; and spend as much time as they possibly can together. She helps him remember he isn’t alone in this world, and he helps her forget she’s lonely ( - with him she never is, she couldn’t be). And if Catelyn has noticed they spend more time curled together under the covers than they do out in the sun, and that the glances they exchange at breakfast are no longer childish and loving; but comforting and mature – she has yet to say something about it.

-

The change in their dynamic was… swift, but so subtle it was almost undetectable. Jon hadn’t noticed for a while, but now that he sees it, he thinks it may have started with that night, the night of their father’s death; when he’d run to her room. He thinks that may be the root of it all. It’s not that that was the first time they’d seen each other crying, or sad, or the first time they slept in a bed together. It was just, it was different – and maybe Robb had something to do with it; maybe not, maybe it was Jon’s fault for reading so much into things, maybe it was his fault for – never mind, some things Jon elected not to think about these days.

Arya could also tell something was not the same, but it wasn’t an unpleasant shift. It wasn’t something she could pinpoint, she just sensed it was meant to be kept secret, most of all from her mother – and she didn’t know why.

“I don’t get why it bothers her that I love you so much,” she says, adjusting tiles on a scrabble board to spell out ‘attitude’ _._ Jon’s looking at her hands and then up at her, and she knows he’s thinking that her word is oddly suited to her personality – but he doesn’t say anything, just smiles. _I don’t get why she’s so distrustful of him, she’s raised him, for fuck’s sake._ “So what if I’m fonder of you than the others _? I don’t love them less!”_ she goes on, laughing it out.

“Fond?” He couldn’t hide his amusement if he gave a shit to try.

“Yeah, what’s so funny, asshat?” she’s still smiling, smiles that only Jon is privy to these days.

“What does ‘fond’ even mean, Arya?” he haphazardly adds letters to the second t in ‘attitude’ – ‘nether’, somehow it makes sense that that’s _his_ word. He’s still smiling.

“I don’t know – I’m just fond of you, that’s the only word that comes to mind that comes close to defining-“ she makes gestures with her hands before concluding; “this.”

(Jon is giving her that quizzical look that infuriates her, the one that she once yelled at him for because “You make the age difference obvious with that fucking look of yours and I am NOT a kid!” “Arya, I’m only a year older than y-“ “One and a half Jon, one and a half. And I feel every single day of that one year and a half when you give me that look” “Oh for fuck’s sake Arry”).

Arya sighs. “Look, it’s just _fondness,_ deal with it, it’s a special kind,” _Our_ kind of fondness, Arya thinks.

He purses his lips and in that fraction of a second Arya understands why she doesn’t want her mother to sense the change between them; but the thought disappears as quickly as it came. ".... Look, how about I finish up beating your ass in scrabble and then we can watch a movie, sound good?"

Jon shoots her with a no-nonsense glare, and almost says nothing but -

"Yeah fuckin' right you will! I'd like to see you even _try_ -"

"Oh, so you're challenging me? Ha, good lu-"

"Fake confidence all you like, I'm still gonna mop the floor with you-" 

 

In twenty minutes, Arya wins.

 

-

 

When it’s late enough that even Jon knows he should go back to his room, he gets up from the floor in the darkness to leave and that’s when she says it, what they both understand to be true but never have the courage to voice it.

 

“I don’t know why this feels different, but it’s good.”


	4. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ((trigger warning: there's the smallest mention of blood, cuz dumb Jon gets a papercut, but that's about it))
> 
>  
> 
> _Papercuts are the beginning of sin. ___

Christmas rolls around, and while the family is eagerly awaiting Robb’s return, the house is bustling with a kind of life it hasn’t seen in… well. You can guess.

Every surface available is covered in wreaths, holly, garlands; the Starks don’t fuck around when it comes to Christmas – and even in the after-grief, it wouldn't feel appropriate if they didn't celebrate as they did every year. It's an unspoken understanding that this is the start of truly moving on, and, most importantly, it’s what Ned would’ve wanted.

Everyone is so busy with trying to keep the decorations in place, or finding new ways to hang even more of the christmas lights up, or just generally being giddy that Robb will be back soon that they don’t find time to closely watch Jon and Arya. So she feels like consequences are nigh and a strange rush is overcoming her – which she attributes to Christmas jitters – but she can tell it has more to do with the new ways in which her _friendship_ (or whatever this is) with Jon is evolving, and with the change she is so keen on hiding from her mother.

Jon  is in the kitchen, wrapping up his present for her where she wouldn’t expect to find him (and ruin the surprise – which she always found a way of doing), when she tiptoes around to his side and whispers;

“What you got there?” (and even on the balls of her feet she’s not tall enough to look at her present over his shoulder) – he jerks abruptly, damning himself for being found when his fingers slide smoothly along the edge of the (hideously overdecorated) wrapping paper, a thin slice already starting to drip blood from his index finger.

“Shit!” he hisses, and the papercut is starting to sting, Arya can tell. She winces and mutters some kind of apology but Jon has brought his finger to his lips and is sucking the blood away and Arya doesn’t think she remembers what she was about to say next. Jon quickly grabs the not-quite-wrapped present and shoves it under his armpit, giving Arya a very pointed look – although it’s hard to take anyone seriously when they’re sucking on their index finger like a frickin baby.

She must’ve said as much because his eyes widen at her and he retorts. “HEY, how is that fair? You crept up on me, you criminal,” he’s still keeping his finger at his lips and she finds it fascinating that she can’t look away. Digging for some kind of band-aid, there’s a smile tugging at his mouth; he finds what he’s looking for in the drawer and his gaze lifts up sideways to meet hers. The stare feels like a stab to the chest and for some _fucking_ reason her heart rate picks up.

_Fuck,_ Jon. _This is why mother never trusted you._

_-_

Jon is leaning against the foot of Arya’s bed and she’s sitting across from him on the carpet when there’s a knock at the door. It’s Bran, and he’s dressed in a sweater matching Jon’s (it’s ridiculous, and there’s reindeer on it and little Santa hats – all you’d really want to know), and his hair is ruffled and falling into his eyes but for the first time in _months_ he looks to be truly happy. (Arya had almost forgotten what Bran’s smile looked like, but with the crinkles framing his youthful eyes and the little dots spread across his cheeks, she remembers and it fills her heart with warmth, with _fondness_ even; but this is different, a very different kind). Bran mentions something about cookies and Robb arriving tomorrow morning, and there’s a rare moment where they all just … smile, and say nothing for a few seconds. The house smells like pudding and vanilla and Sansa’s covered in flour as she screams something at Rickon – but it’s playful and it’s loving and there’s been a change in _everyone,_ not just Jon and Arya, but they’ve been too caught up in themselves to notice until now.

It is such a relief. If the puffy lining of Bran’s eyes is any kind of measurement at all, mourning has worn out the Stark family enough by now. And somehow Sansa screaming; “Get back here you little RAT or I’ll scoop your eyes out with this spatula!!” is the most calming sound the house has heard in weeks, or at least Arya thinks so. She smiles while her sister’s laughter echoes through the hallway, smiles in front of Bran too – and she doesn’t know it then but that smile in particular is how Bran finally realizes things are going to be okay.

(Jon and Bran grin at each other, Rickon bounding down the staircase and howling with laughter, Sansa’s giggles carry around like music – they’re all going to be alright, after all.)

-

 

Catelyn is in the car. Her car? Ned’s car. _Ned is dead, Cat._ Ned’s old car. Her car. It was always their car, so it was always her car. But, now? It’s. It’s not his anymore? Is it hers now? Should the children have it? _No, Cat, focus_.

She takes a deep breath and catches herself in the rearview mirror. She can’t be seen like this, not by her Robb, not when he hasn’t seen her in so long. And it’s not like she isn’t feeling better now, it’s just going to take her much more time to adjust to _this_ , to Ned being gone, than it has taken the kids. _Oh, the kids_. She smiles, her reflection changing dramatically – she decides that it doesn’t matter if her eyes are red from sleeplessness, if her hands are frail, if her gaze is not as glaring. When Robb comes, she’ll be smiling, and she’ll look alright either way.

 

When she walks back into the house, determined to make Robb’s favourite (pot roast – it’s not really his ultimate favourite, but she makes it so well and he never fails to praise her that she’s grown to believe it is his favourite), she can hear Sansa roaring – no – the whole _house_ roaring with sounds, laughter, bellowing. Rickon’s smile is almost tearing his cheeks apart, and Sansa is chasing him with a wooden spoon down the stairs – _and by God (“Sansa are those eggs spilled all over your apron front?!”)_ – their collective cheerfulness bringing a smile to Cat’s face. Even Bran is heard talking excitedly upstairs, and Cat is silently so thankful that Jon is there with them – she knows he’s kept Arya sane all this time (she gives him more credit than people think).

Catelyn suddenly feels like it might take less time to get used to this than she thought.

 

-

Jon is lying on the floor, chewing the last bits of his gingerbread cookie – he feels so whole for a few moments, the night closing in all around the Stark house. Tomorrow Robb’ll be home too, and things will feel almost as perfect as they should’ve been (he’s not going to fool himself into thinking he’s completely happy, but when Arya returns from the bathroom and flops right next to him, he’s not quite so sure he’d be fooling himself at all if he thought so).

“Hey Arry?” his words are stuffy and Arya laughs as he swallows his cookie. She only responds with a questioning hum, allowing him to go on. “we’re gonna be okay, right?” he’s no longer eating anything, and he’s turned to look straight at her. A moment of silence passes in solemnity, but then Arya just snorts and tells him he’s such a sap and that “yes, things are going to be alright,” because she forgets she’s sad when she’s with Jon, and it’s been so easy to recover with him around that she feels like she’s truly getting there.

She looks back at him in the low light of her lamp, and there are gingerbread crumbs sprinkled all around his lips and she thinks it’s so _furiously unfair_ that he looks like this, right now, and the fact that she should ever have to deal with this is ridiculous; so she just wipes them off with her thumb. For a moment his jaw loosens – slackens, actually – and Arya knows she’s gone and crossed an invisible boundary she really, really shouldn’t have. She simply retracts her hand and smiles weakly, but Jon reaches out to squeeze her forearm, and she knows he’s caught on as well.

“I’ll sleep in my room tonight.” He says, and faster than she can protest, he’s gone.

Arya doesn’t have the strength to react, and groaning back into the floor, she falls asleep soon after.

She dreams of papercuts and other things, and this time Jon’s lips were not on his fingers.

-

(Only after nearly ten minutes of tossing and turning in his bed does Jon come to terms with the fact that he really wants to know how soft Arya’s lips are.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this has quickly devolved from heartwrenching angst to the sappiest, corniest fluff and I don't even want to think about it.
> 
> Also, second update in the same day - did christmas come early? (pun intended ;) )

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this is going.
> 
> Please, suggestions are welcome, utterly fucking welcome, though I may end up just doing whatever comes to me. Inspiration works like that sometimes.
> 
> Ah well, I hope you enjoyed this lot of evil sadness, and the only thing i can really promise you is that Jonrya will happen.


End file.
